Those Who Know
by Fish Wishes
Summary: A tribute to the characters who know of the Dark Knight's sacrifice. Short snippets told from different view points of the Joker's aftermath. Post DKR.
1. Ramirez

"What do you believe in?"

**Those Who Know**

**Ramirez**

She's in a hospital. She knows why she's here. The things she's done are not forgotten. Maybe, when the sun finally rises, they'll only be shadows—reminders of what's she's done, and what she hopes to never do again. She's in a hospital and in the bed next to her is her mother, reading the newspaper as if she didn't have terminal breast cancer and her daughter did.

"Anna." Her mother smiles.

The lights are low. She's grateful. Her temples squeeze into her eyes. The pressure there is blissful. She's grateful to have pain. It was a pistol whip. It could have been a killing blow. Ramirez settles down in to the hospital bed, as if physically separating herself from the memory for a moment. Harvey Dent. The stench of his burnt flesh haunts her. Grotesque sights are a part of being a cop; you became desensitized to it eventually. The smells—though—always linger. Death's perfume is so singular it cannot be mistaken. Dent breathed, but he was dead. (There was no denying that stench.) Everything he stood for, believed in, fought for: bombed, burned, buried. After meeting the Joker once, she knew the answer to the question "why?" It was obvious. Any decent person could tell you. He was hope for Gotham. _Our knight in shining armor,_ she thinks, horrified at the image her mind conjures. Sinews. Flesh. Bone.

"What happened?" Ramirez murmurs. She needs a distraction.

"Batman murdered Dent." Her mother says it like a joke. The headlines tell her it's not.

"He didn't," she vows. The twisted rage and desire Dent expressed when he held her at gun point squeezed her throat closed. She remembers the reason he had her on the phone. "What about Jim's family?"

"Safe. Apparently Batman was holding them hostage and something about working with the Joker," her mother hums, not looking up from the tabloids.

"That's not true," Ramirez growls. She didn't doubt Batman was there, but something happened. Bats don't attack unless provoked. He made a decision. People hate people who make decisions because they make things happen, for good or bad.

Her mother glances up and raises an eyebrow, as if not days before she was evacuated because a lunatic threatened to blow up the hospital she was checked in to. "Who are you trying to convince?"

**Author: **In honor of this coming Friday, I've decided to do this short flick. Enjoy. Review. And get freaking excited! =D

(All quotes are from the movie "_The Dark Knight_" and no, in fact, I don't own any of this.)


	2. Alfred

"It's a funny world we live in."

**Those Who Know**

**Alfred**

The ER nurses don't ask questions when Bruce is dragged in unconscious. (Why is a billionaire coming to a public hospital when he can afford a private surgeon? Why does a billionaire have a bullet in his gut? Why is his butler so calm? Is this normal?) Instead she instructs him to fill out the appropriate documents before skittering off to another patient. A group of high security prisoners came in hours before wearing scrubs. If she held her tongue then, she could hold it now. So, she leaves the smiling butler to wade his way through technical jargon.

Alfred knows, for a moment, everything was right. He wasn't personally taking care of his charge, but as long as it wasn't Master Wayne suturing together more scars, he found he didn't quite mind. Even after waiting hours for his charge to be out of the surgery room, he's paging through week old magazines as if he's contemplating what will be served for supper. Even when he sees Master Wayne in all his heart monitoring-IV tube glory, Alfred Pennyworth chokes. His charge is finally getting the proper care. The bruises look dastardly, but the lighting makes them looked less permanent, as if this time, maybe they'll actually fade away. The electrolytes of his tears are charged with joy.

The doctor visited at the end of his shift. Alfred wishes he didn't. He looks like Master Wayne does when returning after a fruitless night.

"Give it a few weeks to heal, but the damage was minimal. The bullet didn't go passed the muscle tissue," the man grumbles, as if he really doesn't want to be here.

Alfred gives it a few moments before asking, "Is there something else I can help you with, doctor?"

"Yeah…" He licks his lips. "In two weeks I want you to schedule an appointment with me. He needs a general physical and...maybe a few other things." He proffers a business card.

"Very well, sir." Alfred continues reading the decent paperback he scrounged up in the hospital's gift shop.

The doctor lingers a while longer before leaving, grumbling something about needing a better way to spend money.

* * *

"Alfred," Master Wayne croaks when the sedatives wear off.

"Yes, sir?" He's at the bed side now. His slacks are wrinkled, but it's okay.

"You drugged me," his ward rasps.

"How else did you expect me to get you to the hospital?" They're both smiling now, weary, tired, happy smiles.

They leave after the twenty four hour mark and a light dose of painkillers. No one persists for Master Wayne to stay longer. He might be a billionaire, but they need the room he took up more. The halls, lounges, elevators burst with hundreds of patients too many. Master Wayne sags in a wheel chair because a gurney couldn't be spared. He cradles his head, propped up in a hand. He's not faking as he begins to nod off again. Getting down from the fifth floor of the hospital takes a ridiculous amount of time. Alfred understands part of his annoyance comes from the privileges of Wayne's family fortune he is used to. However, these _people_. How ungrateful they are! They should respect Master Wayne. Should nod their heads in thanks. Should acknowledge how much he's done for this city, for these people who shove by like animals.

Then, Alfred recalls their ignorance.

* * *

**Author**: I love Alfred and how Caine portrays him. It's a magnificent blend of professional and fatherly love. Next is Reese. Thank you, my single reviewer! This is for you.


	3. Reese

"You know that day that you once told me about,

when Gotham would no longer need Batman?"

**Those Who Know**

**Reese**

He doesn't drink strong alcohol. After a bad experience in college he only pretends he does. But right now, he's fingering the cheap whiskey. Reese was back in Gotham . Released from protective custody two weeks after the Joker was arrested, he's found people still recognized him. He should have gone somewhere else. The government would have paid for new accommodations (not that he needed their money). Despite what he was going to do to, Mr. Fox would have given him a good recommendation. His future would have been secured. Smooth. Easy. Set. Instead he came back to the city where too many buildings were under construction. It allowed temporary work for the previously unemployed. Despite the empty, echoing parks and the still over crowded hospitals, people were hopeful. They banded together, and an unspoken honor code threaded all the decent citizens of Gotham together.

But Reese knew numbers. He sipped at the horrible whiskey. He sputtered a bit as the biting taste. "God!" he gasped before taking another gulp. He knew numbers. And he knew unless something more stable, more reliable, inserted itself into Gotham's economy then what was pushed into the gutters will begin to overflow, again.

The ice is melting in his drink. Maybe it will water it down? Maybe it'd be easier to down then? However, there is no Harvey Dent this time. There will be no ice to water it down. He leans his forehead against the cool glass of his apartment. Downtown glimmered with the lights of cranes and spot lights.

Worse yet, there will be no one to drink this shit. Batman is a shadow to be feared, now. No one would accept his help. He's on the same level as the Joker now to the general public. Reese pulls at his hair, trying to keep it in. He didn't, after the accident. After the shock ebbed away. He cried. It wasn't the fact Bruce Wayne was Batman. Anyone could wear a mask and do some crazy stunts. Bruce Wayne, however, pulled his Lamborghini in front of a truck. When they exchanged their silent conversation through one glance—that's what made this business savvy man break into a boy.

You grow up in Gotham always expecting your best friend to betray you. This city is ruthless. You don't expect a stranger, much less the man you are threatening, to risk his life for you. Mr. Wayne's actions shattered Reese's dark perception of this society.

* * *

He saw him at a fundraiser today, for a new Gotham General. He smiled and exchanged brief pleasantries before someone joined in. The first thing on everyone's tongue after "How are you?" is "That Bastard Batman." Thus, the discussion flowed accordingly. Reese didn't dare to breathe.

He remembered the look. _"I didn't have to do it."_

He glances towards Mr. Wayne. _But you did it anyways. _And as the conversation continued, not once did Batman defend himself.

* * *

**Author:** Everyone hates Reese, blah, blah, blah. I think he's just a product of his environment. I really enjoyed writing this one for some reason…the next one is either the Joker or Gordon. Still debating. You'll just have to wait and see~ Again! Thank you dear reviewers! Yes, _plural_, now. Please continue~


	4. The Joker

"What's the difference between you and me?"

**Those Who Know**

**The Joker**

He's sitting still. It always bothers them more if he does nothing. He gets to see their faces more often then, too. He likes to see their faces. He likes to smile at them when they pull back the viewing window. They never want to smile at him, though. But he's just being friendly. Nice. Considerate. He only wants to make friends. He likes having friends. Batman, too. Batman wanted to have friends. He was always so _nice_ and _considerate_.

"Not that Gotham knows that. How sad," he coos into the empty room. He will admit, he was upset at Batman for taking the fall for Harvey Dent. Maybe he should write him a letter letting him know? He couldn't possibly know because he's been missing for weeks.

"No point in taking a vacation," he drawls examining his fingers nails. They were stubby. They didn't want to give him any chances at killing anyone. Not that he would. No point in leaving if Batman wasn't out in the night fighting crime. He was taking a break. Everyone needed a break.

"We just had too much _fun!_" he squeals. "Got all worn out…not that I blame him," he growls, fingers grazing over his new puckered wounds. His _trophies_.

"Stop talking to yourself!" a guard shouts into the room.

He grins and asks, "Can I talk to you then?" He continues, "Do you wanna know how I got these scars?" He's standing now. _Not too close to the view hole, _ he warns himself. He doesn't want to scare the mouse away.

The guard tries to act tough. "You've already told anyone who'll listen. Some lunatic escaped and held you captive. Cut you up."

He twitches. "Ah, is that the story I told, hmm." He licks his lips. "Lemme tell you another one."

The man doesn't move. His grin cracks his face. _Oh, curiosity._"I was coming home one night—late—from work. And," he sighs. "Igotjumped."

"Everyone gets jumped in Gotham," the guard sneers.

"I wasn't finished," he sings. "Now. When I got jumped I was scared because I didn't understand. You always fear things you don't understand, aaaaaand the mugger goes to me, 'Why so serious?' He starts shaking me and asking 'Why so serious?'" He's reenacting the scene for the horrified guard. He shoots forward, his wild eyes shoved up to the viewing screen and his fingers scraping at the ledge. "Let's put a smile on that face," he growls.

He whoops with laughter when the gun is shoved up to the little opening. Cackling hilariously as the guards shouts at him to back away. He gathers himself enough to wheeze, "Now, which story is the _real_ story, hhmmm?" He snickers and adds, "Who's the Bat-Man? What's his real story? That's one I'd like to know. Maybe you could tell me a story sometime, hmmm? I'd like that very much." He bobs his head in affirmation. "I'd like that—very—much."

* * *

**Author:** I almost didn't post this in lieu of the Aurora, Co. shooting. The Joker just seemed too real for a moment. My heart goes out to all those affected. Stay Safe, everyone.

Next, Gordon or his son, James? Lemme know which ya'll are hankering more for.


	5. Gordon

"Gotham needs a hero with a face."

**Those Who Know**

**Gordon**

He's always surprised when they get new recruits. Gordon figured between the Joker and the Batman, anyone who could would be trying to transferred to another place; L.A, Trenton, Detroit. Who wants to be a police officer in a city like Gotham where you have psychotic psychiatrists, vigilantes murdering the DAs, and terrorists who are fond of makeup? When he first started you only had the mob to worry about. They were predictable, and if you didn't get them this time… Although the Dent Act prevented criminals from beating the rap, but he still hated the name. Hated the praise that man receives.

The new recruit who came in about a month ago loves Dent. He also acted like he knew something about what happened in Gotham. This kid was as green as the grass on Bruce Wayne's new lawn. Where the hell was he from? Idaho? Was there even a major city in Idaho? The kid enjoyed making jabs at the Batman and the police's previous trust towards him. And whenever the commissioner was at Central (often as possible ), acting as if the Joker will lead another heist, that kid finds a way to throw his patronizing, ignorant opinions at Gordon. Ramirez mentioned wanting to take the kid the Arkham to meet the Joker. But he figured it was the kids leering making her say something like that... Maybe he could get the kid transferred on some bogus charge like sexual harassment?

Then he might have to pull favors but being commissioner makes everything too political. If he wasn't allowed to see his old team as much as he did he might have resigned. Might. There was still the fact he was the best person to dredge out the Joker's filth and sniff out the Batman, which really meant he was the best person to make sure the police focused on shit the Joker left behind and _didn't_ sniff out the Batman. A few times he was sighted, but nothing confirmed, nothing resulting in chasing him over roof tops and shooting at the one man willing to take the insanity of Gotham upon himself.

Every civilian scorns the caped crusader and of the police department's lack of progress on his case—society's ignorance is like the mob, they never fail you. Detectives and forensic scientists of Gotham were trying to take the mask off Batman. However, the government stepped back. The lack of money and the upcoming presidential elections put the "hopeless" city on the shelf with all the other dusty files. So, it was up to them, a group of haggard men and women, to find the most elusive vigilante. It was like being a nanny to a bratty child. Gordon pauses in his paperwork to wonder if this is how Batman feels?

Shoving the tension of the commissioner who knew the Batman wasn't the man the department shouldn't be hunting and the hundreds of other police officers who weren't sure about their loyalties (both of whom haven't slept without reaching for their guns at least once every night due to the paranoia of the Joker) then multiply in this kid who insists on putting down his superiors just because he wasn't born in Gotham and this whole situation is a funny to tweet to his friends in…Oklahoma (wasn't that where he was from again?) and you've got a department of decent cops ready to volunteer to drive this kid to the Narrows and drop him off.

When the kid alludes to the police _betraying_ Dent to Batman (when it's really the other way around),Jim steps forward. He's not physically threatening. At the Academy his skills were in fire arms and problem solving. Still, the rookies jaw stops flapping. He's smirking at Gordon. The commissioner smiles. "Since you're so eager to catch Batman, I could probably reassign you to a more specific detail."

The kid looks taken aback. "Uh, sure."

"Good."

The rookie found himself working the desk, compiling sighting and any information the public phoned in about the city's residential vigilante. One person call in, convinced Bruce Wayne was Batman. The rookie hung up.

**Author**: I'm _not _satisfied with the chapter. I believe Gordon was a very crucial character for Nolan's adaptation because he's like a metaphor for the city of Gotham itself. Also, the states mentioned are not suppose to be a bash on them! Please don't get upset.

Thank you everyone who's following/favoriting and a special thanks to those who review! Please continue. =]


	6. James

"Sometimes the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded."

**Those Who Know**

**James**

"Mom and Dad argue a lot," Tina whispers from the other side of his bed.

James grunts, "Go to sleep."

She huffs and rearranges herself, taking most of the blankets with her. He doesn't more to stop her. They end up on the floor because of the nightmares anyways. Sometimes he swore he felt his hot, fetid breath on his head. Sometimes he expects to hear Dad say, "It'll be okay" out of the darkness. Sometimes he thinks Batman is right outside of his window, watching over him. It's on those nights he can go back to bed. With the types of things Mom's been saying lately he keeps waking up with his bed wet and warm.

"He's not around anymore, Gordon! He's gone. Just leave it alone. He did what he could and left."

"You don't know that."

"Yes. I do. This city is falling into the bay. You can't keep thinking that it's going to get better!"

"He did."

"He's been gone for over a year!"

"There's been no _confirmed_ sightings for over a year!"

"He's gone. He's left and hopefully moved on. Like you need to do."

"Barbra, I can't just _leave_ Gotham. There's too much to do here still."

"It's not your burden to bear."

"Yes it is! After everything he's done for me, us, this city! You think that I can just let everything fall to the wayside again? I have to prove that even though it's all a _lie_ something good can still come out of it."

James knows Mom is shaking her head now. Dad's pacing and tearing at his graying hair. Their arguments have been the same for the past few months, but James still hasn't gotten used to it. Hearing Mom and Dad talk like that. After a long period of silence the door will slam. Mom will go to bed. Sometimes she cries. More often she doesn't.

"Jim, stop. Just stop."

James sits up in bed and creeps to the crack in the door and presses his ear close. This isn't normal. He glances at Tina. She's awake and hugging at her stuffed rabbit. They hold each other's gaze as the unprecedented continuation of their parent's argument breeches into unfamiliar areas…

"If you don't stop doing this to your self—" The light from under the door illuminates Tina's eyes.

"Barbra, what are you talking about?" James has become very familiar with the sound of fear. He hears it in his father's voice now.

"Jim! I can't have the kids here any longer—I can't be here any longer."

He hears the wall clock in the kitchen chime. It's one. Way passed Bed Time.

"Are you saying you want a divorce?" It's a harsh whisper that's carried up the wooded steps to the second floor bedrooms. It's like a knife grinding against the plate as you tear a piece of food apart.

"No…"

"They what?"

Mom sighs. "I'll give you a month. I won't make it abrupt, but I think it's better if our family distances ourselves from this place."

"I'm not going to leave!"

"I am."

"What about the kids?"

"You'll fight me to keep them here?" Bitter humor. James has also become very familiar with bitter humor. "Do you know how often James comes ho with bruises from getting beat up? I've gotten called into the Principal's twice because of his insistent behavior of defending Batman. And Tina cries at any loud noise. You think keeping our children here is what's best for them?"

It's so quiet for so long, James thought he missed the door slamming and the steps creaking.

"Have you started looking?"

"No I'll just move in with mom. It'll be good for her and the kids."

"That's all the way in Cleveland!"

"It's good Gotham's the farthest in land port then? Makes the drive shorter than New York or something." Bitter humor again.

"Jesus," Dad swears.

"Jim—I still love you, but I can't love this city and it's such a big part of you…Maybe I'll come back once you step down or you can come out to Cleveland, but for now…"

James slips back under the covers, hitching up farther on his neck. Batman couldn't save him from this.

**Author:** Long overdue. Felt good to write this. I think I'll be writing a few other characters before concluding with Bruce's. Anyone specific ya'll wanna hear from?

As always, I am so grateful for the attention all the reviewers, followers and favorite-ers give to my writing. Thank you. Thank you.


	7. Fox

"You know…I think I have just the thing."

**Those Who Know**

**Lucius Fox**

You have to admire the business world. No matter what, it refuses to stop. It adapts to create a profit in whatever way possible. As CEO of Wayne Enterprises, it was humorous for Mr. Fox to deal with the demands of the wealthy board members as they shout at him from the safety of their homes miles and miles away from the chaos the Joker created. Not because what was happening to the city was funny, but their small mindedness never ceases to blindside him. Also, because they have no idea about Bruce's escapades. They all assumed Mr. Fox worked late nights to try to deal with the media problems the drunk, playboy tended to attract. They didn't think about what is dozens of stories beneath their feet or if the reason Batman's equipment looked so familiar is because it _is_ their equipment. Really. He couldn't help but to smile and laugh. And here they just thought him a little crazy.

This might be true because there is another thing about the business world Mr. Fox has come to appreciate and that's the absolute backwardness of all the people who work underneath its label. Being honest, they are all a tad crazy. Making profit out of a dismal situation and playing attention to the fiscal problem more than the human problem. He's not trying to say the business world is evil; it's not even a necessary evil. It is simply necessary. Keep the economy moving. Keep the government moving. Keep the people moving. Mr. Fox knew this, but he also knew sometimes business couldn't get all that needed to be done, done. Maybe that's why he was attracted to helping Batman.

He really didn't think too hard about it because there were antidotes to make and psychopaths to track. He might have been laughing a whole lot more if it was only the mob he helped Batman put away. Even as he listens to another complaint from a board member, he works in Archives. Currently, he was tracking all the dangerous weapons and military equipment Wayne Enterprises distributed across the world.

This particular member was complaining about the company's current stagnant position in Gotham. She suggested moving to somewhere where vigilantes were less prone to stalk the night.

"I understand your concerns," Mr. Fox hummed as he found some discrepancies in a fiscal report of one of their dealers. "However, at this point leaving Gotham would only cause a negative image on the company. It would seem as if we were running away from all the problems when we should be good philanthropists and help rebuild this city. Also, we still must consider the Wayne Family's wishes."

"Bruce?" she scoffs. "He sleeps through meetings and insults the company enough. Although he is a major share holder, he is not a factor we should be concerned about."

Mr. Fox smiled. He found some equipment that had been ferreted away in Taiwan. Yes, Bruce did have a habit of snoozing and insulting all his guests at parties, but he also had the amazing capabilities to crush the mob, end Joker's reigns, and take the fall for the death of Harvey Dent. Instead of saying all of this, he chuckled and said, "Quite right, quite right."

"So?" the woman growled after a pause.

Mr. Fox found himself quickly disinterested in the conversation and cordially replied, "I will take your suggestion under advisement, thank you and enjoy your vacation." He hung up.

He continued with his research until he found his fingers stilled on his key board. His laugh echoed across the cement floor. In all of his worry to collect these items and to also make sure Batman had the best gadgets, he forgot about Bruce, the human.

He called up to his secretary and asked if he had any messages. He didn't. He drummed his fingers and stared at his phone. It was the middle of the day and Batman had receded back to being only a shadow. There has been no confirmed sighting in months, but the GPDs fervent efforts to catch the vigilante have not suffered. They are like Frankenstein's monster, electrocuted to life with the Dent Act. But that still begs the question...

"Good day, Alfred," Mr. Fox greeted when the ringing stopped.

"Lucius." The clipped British accent is one that he secretly hoped never went away, for it almost seemed too appropriate for the butler's personality.

"I was wondering if Mr. Wayne is in by chance."

"I'm sorry, but he's is quite busy with the reconstruction of the Manor at the time being."

"No doubt," Mr. Fox chuckled. "Maybe I should come by and see the place. I hear it has a lovely new addition to it."

"Indeed, I can hardly believe it myself."

"Very good, very good." Mr. Fox enjoyed these conversations. He enjoyed them more when an ignorant party was present. It truly amazed him how little people look past the obvious. "Would later today be a good?"

"Sounds delightful. Mr. Wayne is assured to be present the whole time," Alfred quipped.

Lucius laughed right out and continued to chuckle as he said good-bye. It took him a few moments to get back under control, but randomly his giggling bounced through the chamber as he continued to ponder on things like business, bats, and botched dinner engagements.

**Author:** It's been a while darlings. Here's the next installment. Are there any particular characters you wish to see? I think I'm going to do Blake and then probably Bruce himself as an ending. And as always, please review and tell me what you think


	8. Blake

"It's a funny world we live in."

**Those Who Know**

"**Robin" John Blake**

"Thank God for the Wayne's, boys," Father would tell them every night for prayer. "Their generosity bought us a roof over our heads, cloths on our backs and food in our stomachs."

Blake always wanted to add something to that list ever since he figured it out. He wanted to say, "And thank you Bruce, for protecting us from ourselves." But he knew no one would understand. They didn't see it, and it wasn't because he was an expert at hiding it. Come on. Who else can afford to have the things Batman has? Bruce rose from the dead and Batman appeared—together. In the same month. The only reason people haven't figured it out is because they don't want to. They don't want to humanize the hero (or villain, as he's now referred to). They rather he remains something intangible. It's easier to get angry at something that can't really exist. It's the same deal with God.

Everyone just ignored what was right in front of their faces. People do that. They twist things around so they make themselves out to be the better people. He saw the same thing in the foster homes and with most potential parents. They wanted to help him, fix him, but not _for_ him. None of it was for him. It was all for them; they just made it seem like it was for him.

They did not want to think that what Gotham has become is their fault. It was because of these few bad men: starting with the mob and then raising until it would become the Joker. Not them. Never them. And it was Batman who caused everything to escalate. It was his fault that the crime rates rose. Gotham never needed a hero, (they say) but once a hero arrived, then you needed a villain. Thus, their vision became haze through lies and deceit.

* * *

He hated being cold. He hated winter. Maybe Blake resented it because of a time when he was young and his parents did not pay the bills or before he was in the boy's boarding house and was stuck on the streets. Either way, he did not like the cold. He liked snow. It was peaceful and helped soothe him in a strange way. However, he always put up a front when the rest of the boys would go out to make forts of have snowball fights. He hated it. The cold.

He spat. Blood splattered along the pavement, but it was too dark so you couldn't tell the difference between it and the oil stains. But that was his life wasn't it?

It was one of those nights when he considered telling Gotham "Screw you" before sleeping for a week. But as his breath puffed out of his mouth and he realized how impractical a spandex suit was for bitter winters of Gotham, he continued fighting. Not because he thought it was something Batman and Bruce would have done, but because it is something _he_ has done and will keep on doing until that glorious day where, maybe, just maybe, people will learn to clean up after themselves.

* * *

The academy was two years in his past, but he was still treated like a rookie. He saw his fair share and worked through enough situations to have the label peel away, yet it sticks. When he asked a co-worker over some coffee he laughed, like it was some secret joke.

Blake got annoyed and snapped a little. The man laughed harder, his coffee spilling over the Styrofoam cup.

"That's just it!" he said, wiping his hands along his blue uniform. "You've made it through the system, academy, and the some of the worst years of your career and you still have this god damned innocence about you!"

"Don't say GD," Blake grumbled. He could see Father's frown at the officer's swearing.

"Fine, whatever." He sipped at the coffee. It was disgusting, but none of the officer's dared to put milk or sugar in because that's just sissy. He jabbed a finger at the kid. "You just got this air about you...it's like your keep on hopin for somethin better. I don't get it. There ain't nuthin better. Gotham is in the pits and so what about the Dent Act? Doesn't stop from women bein prostitutes or kids gettin beat or men sellin drugs. It keeps happenin and will keep happenin. Our work in an endless fuckin merry go round. It wears on you after the first six months. Yet, you, twenty four months in, still act like there is hope. It's messed up."

It sounded like a scolding when Blake heard that. Like suddenly wanting to believe in something better was a weird social-constructed sin. Maybe it existed before, but after Dent's death five years ago, when he was getting ready to graduate high school, that's when he thinks hope became a joke, something to sneer at. It didn't have to do with Dent's death. It had everything to do with Batman. He gave Gotham a reason to hope long before Dent came along two years later. Blake was sixteen when Batman's shadow began to pass overhead. The whole city was drunk on hope. It intoxicated everyone. Then, when Batman killed Dent, he betrayed us and took away the good stuff, leaving Gotham with a horrible hangover.

So why? He keeps watering concrete. Flowers don't grow there. Hope makes you do stupid things, but he doesn't think what he's doing is stupid. He doesn't now and he won't later. Not even after Bane's insanity or Batman's sacrifice. Not even when he puts on the mask for the first time or has to stitch together his first knife wound or extract a bullet all on his own. Instead he simply thinks about how nice it would be to have a second pair of hands like Alfred to help him with the pliers.

* * *

**Author:** Sorry the time lines a little jumbled up but I really didn't feel like going in linear order. It felt too funky if I did it normally. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and please review if you feel inclined. (Also, I didn't really know in what order Blake's name should have gone in, so I took some liberties with that.)

Next: Bruce


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